By The Sword
by Apathyisdeath
Summary: Little windows into the lives of Sparrow and her daughter. The young princess' father leaves for battle, the first meeting of the princess and Elliot in a most inappropriate manner, Sparrow's pregnancies, teenage Logan, royal offspring, and a revolution!


_A/N: My first Fable fic! Please note that this could be considered an extension of the "See the Future" DLC and perhaps even further, if you will. All in italics are from Sparrow and her daughter's lives after Lucien's death, before the revolution and finally during, but not in a chronological order. Hope they're still pretty easy to figure out, though. I think I may also be taking liberties with when Sparrow probably died. By my estimation, (s)he would probably have died when the hero of Fable III was very young, not at the age I've accounted.  
_**  
By The Sword  
**_"But in this brotherhood I still believe  
And for the ones we've lost my soul will grieve  
Yet through the world alone I wander for I know somewhere  
I will find my brothers, by the sword I swear."_  
**  
**Sparrow let her equipment fall to the ground awkwardly and dangerously at the entrance of the throne room. She felt unusually flustered for once as her small feet produced large echoes throughout the stone walls. She moved almost aimlessly through them. She had not seen any of her friends, as some may choose the word, for a long time.

Thankfully, Lucien had been scrubbed clean from Albion _and_ the mortal realm, while Theresa had seemingly taken over the Spire. Sparrow would miss Hammer's awful singing waking her at ungodly times in the morning, and Garth's glowing scars annoyingly catching the corner of her eye. She even missed Reaver, Sparrow dared to think.

_"Ah, look little Sparrow... Castle Fairfax looks so nice in the snow."_

But now she was alone, and in a most literal sense._ Having a big old castle to live in should make a woman sing_, thought Sparrow. _But then you've got to live in it..._

Her one-year anniversary as mayor was approaching soon. Couldn't the mayor just throw open the gates and invite in the masses?

But then they would notice things like "why does the mayor herself not eat in her banquet hall and instead choose her quarters?" and "why does the mayor herself not have a husband yet?" and assurances that she should find someone to share the space, often scented with ale breath when by the Bowerstone Inn. One gigantic headache.

It was also likely to happen when Sparrow would try to shop in the town square and would have to squeeze her way very delicately through the crowd around her, all asking for autographs and engagement rings, despite Sparrow hardly knowing any of them.

She still couldn't bear going into the study. Not yet.

**  
_The young girl shifted her legs awkwardly from her cross-legged position on the cold stone floor of the study. That old handmaiden and self-proclaimed expert on manners Marianna would scold her for being so unladylike. She had told her off in the banquet hall that very same morning for apparently "slurping" her soup. But of course she always acted delightfully to her mother. Cow._

"Princesses use utensils," she had drawled, handing her a cold spoon. "And stop running around so wild with the boys every morning. It shall kill me to braid your hair after the wind has had its way with it once more."  
The girl scowled at her, begrudgingly scooping some steaming soup into the spoon and trying to sip politely. Since her mother had appointed Marianna to care especially for her, there was not one thing she could do to get rid of her. After hurriedly finishing said soup, she had run to the study to find her mother. She usually was there after breakfast. The young girl had heard the story about Lady Grey a million times over but found it precious every time. It was so romantic.

"'There's something about your eyes," Sparrow quoted, her voice entering a snooty falsetto. "They're so beautiful. So captivating.'" Both females giggled at the audacity of it. 

_Once the child had stopped laughing and had finally gathered enough air, she spoke.  
"And then?"  
"And then they all lived happily ever after, I would assume." Sparrow answered, trying to smile innocently down at her attentive daughter. A voice from the corner scoffed. The nearly teenaged boy that possessed said voice had almost been entirely hidden in today's selection of books from the study._

_"How ridiculously naive." The voice snorted. "Well, of course something so foolish would reap negative side effects. Not to mention the very idea of reanimating dead flesh is rather pointless."  
Sparrow leant back in her chair, dropping her quill onto the desk and using the now free hand to massage her temple, sighing slightly as her eyes fluttered shut. The young girl on the floor tried to roll her eyes as she uncurled her legs and proceeded towards the pile of books that was her brother._

_All manner of sophistication was lost as she jabbed him sharply in the side, still slightly annoyed at him. This earned a small, out-of-character squeak from the boy, a book falling from the toppling pile he carried with a thud._

_"Oh, cheer up, Logan." The girl chorused. "It's only a story." _

_Sparrow suppressed the grin that threatened to flood her face as Logan picked up his discarded reading material, trying to brood in his own teenage way whilst trying to fight the laugh that curled his own lip.  
**_

But she did venture into the other rooms. Her favourite was probably her own quarters. Years of roughing it on the cold streets of Bowerstone Old Town had caused her to develop sharp hearing and a thick skin to fend off the cold. Sparrow remembered spreading her limbs luxuriously like a starfish in the silk sheets on her first morning, while absent-mindedly agreeing that turning soft was not necessarily bad. All survival instincts may have waned slightly, but she still knew what Bowerstone needed.

_**  
"And you'll be back-"  
"In just a few weeks, yes. I promise you that." _

_Sparrow resisted showing her distaste physically while gently thumbing the garland of flowers she held in her hands and rested over her rather swollen stomach.  
"You could at least stay for Beltane," she offered weakly. "It has been too long since you stayed. And it is all about fertility, after all." Slipping into a less serious manner, she added the last part with an over-dramatic wiggle of the eyebrows. Her husband chuckled._

"And we need that, why?" He laughed, gesturing to her rather round abdomen. Sparrow rolled her eyes at this. Their second child was currently (and slowly) on the way, hopefully in just under two months. Her husband was to travel to Aurora without her, of all things. It had taken a lot of persuading to get Sparrow to rest and enjoy the festivities of the approaching summer and not worry about such pressing matters in Aurora, for sake of her and their unborn child.

_"I'm still not very happy, you know," she squinted up at him, the blazing early morning sun sitting behind his head like a blinding halo and jabbing at her eyes. "What can you do without the 'Hero Queen' when it comes to fighting, eh?"  
The man beamed again. "There's really not much you can do when the 'Hero Queen's' renowned agility now refers to her remarkable waddling speed."_

_Sparrow tried to scowl at the him, before realising the importance of the situation. They grasped each other in a warm embrace for a few long moments.  
"Hey, now, don't worry about it," he eased, noticing her expression. "You and I can do this together, like always, even if you're not with me."  
Sparrow smiled and leant to kiss her husband. "Well, if you're absolutely sure..."  
"Positive." He replied, breaking away from her and swinging one leg over the back of the tall horse that waited for him.  
"Bye," Sparrow managed to say, her voice thick. The man craned his neck, and she placed the garland on his head. It made her laugh in spite of the tears misting her eyes. He squared his shoulders like a chivalrous knight.  
"Goodbye, fair maiden," he said gently, his neck still craned to her. And with that, he was gone.  
**_

Killing Lucien made Sparrow happy for Albion's sake: he was an evil man, with no intent but greed and domination, even should it kill him. However, killing Lucien didn't bring back her loved ones. Her husband and their son, gone.

Their old house in Bowerstone's town square now lay in a charred wreck, the melted fence now a gravestone for the little family she had created. Sparrow had missed her son immensely in the huge amount of time she had spent in the Spire. It had almost killed her to miss so many of his formative years.

**  
_Sparrow grasped her daughter tightly in her arms. It did not ease her crying, for she still screamed relentlessly.  
"Please, little one," she begged. "Hush." Nothing worked. Rocking and bouncing the child seemed to make her dispel a colourful variety of liquids from the mouth.  
"Well, that's just fantastic." The queen grumbled._

Despite the size of the castle, she could wager that every servant, noble and friend of the royal family would be wedging their heads between pillows.

After an uncounted amount of time of trying to figure out how to make the young princess not wake up the rest of the castle, she finally piped down. She did not sleep, however.

"Not got another surprise for me, have you?" Sparrow asked her daughter. Despite having that same expression on her face, she seemed to be saying something. Perhaps that something was "of course, mummy."

_"I know," Sparrow soothed, using what little remained of her energy to smile down at the child and sighed wistfully. Four months it had been since she had given birth. "I miss him too."_

But the needs of Albion had been far greater than her own. Sparrow realised with a pang of guilt that she only regretted not being able to see Rose again. She had loved her family, but she had known _and_ loved her sister. Losing her had almost killed Sparrow, literally.

**  
_Sparrow sat in one of the many studies, placed on the chair, surrounded by an awkward silence and feeling very impatient. If her daughter kept them waiting much longer, by Albion she would lock her in a big tower for some prince to save her. With a dragon guarding said tower. And chains. And no supper._

Sparrow was growing quite angry. 

_She masked this by smiling and rolling her eyes at her guest as if to say _"typical children!"_ at her. The woman replied the same exasperated look, trying to look pointedly at her own fidgeting son sat next to her. He was trying very carefully to extract a thread that hang from the carefully tailored sleeve of his shirt, an odd look of concentration on his face._

Sparrow's own son sat next to her, seeming a lot more regal and dignified. An unadulterated surge of pride lit her as she turned to smile at her visiting friend once more, trying not to show the teeth that she was very angrily grinding together.  
"I'm terribly sorry about this, Anya. I'm sure there's a very good reason behind this." Sparrow tried to sound humorous and the woman dismissed this with a wave of her hand.  
"Not at all, not at all. It reminds me of whe-"

As if on cue, one of the double doors to the study flung open, revealing a very sorry state of a princess, a hand clasped over her face. Sparrow stood up in the shock of it.  
"Bloody- what have you done to yourself?" She asked increduously.

The princess let her hand fall from her face as she approached her mother, seemingly not noticing their guests and looking probably as angry as Sparrow felt.

Her nostrils were caked with blood, some of which travelled down the sides of her face and chin. The storm that had recently started had evidently soaked the princess head to toe,not leaving much to the imagination as the usually elegant fabric of her beautiful white dress was now plastered unapologetically to her limbs, torso, chest and even her upper thighs. Her hair had become unpinned and streaked in a wild fashion down her face, the decoration that had adorned her hair that morning probably floating in a puddle in the garden.

"It was that harpy Emily again. I swear, mother, this_ time I didn't even provoke her. It's ever since last week when she claimed that I tripped her little "dahhhling" brother up in the gardens, which was _not _on purpose and completely _not _true. I called her a liar...and she called me something rather worse to which I pushed her and her best dress into the pond...I think she might have gotten a lucky punch in when she was going for a swim, but then the stormed started..."  
She trailed off, noticing that her story had been one long, garbled speech while her mother remained mysteriously quiet._

She could see Logan smirking out of the corner of her eye. The princess made a mental note to thwack him later on. Sparrow sighed at her daughter, letting her arms relax and cross over her chest.

"I'm sorry, your majesty," the lady named Anya piped up. "We can...return at a later date if you want to get cleaned u-"  
"No, no!" Sparrow dismissed this with a wave of her hand and the smile plastering back on to her pale face. "Please, remain seated!"  
Anya reluctantly let her backside fall back into her plush chair. The princess turned around slowly as if a prank had been played on her, her mouth falling open in a rather comical 'o'.

"Er, Anya, you haven't met my daughter since she was born, have you?" Sparrow placed her hands on the young teenager's sopping shoulders. "She was that baby that could cough up the rainbow, I'm sure you will remember."

Much to the princess' surprise, Anya let her head fall back and let out a throaty laugh at this. The princess felt her cheeks redden beneath the cold rain and blood there.

Trying to save some face, she waited for the woman to finish her raucous laughter and extended her hand in greeting. Friends of her mother usually did not curtsey or bow when they met her, so she took it as a sign of informality and, more importantly, the normal thing to shake their hand upon meeting.

"Lovely to meet you, my lady." She trilled, desperately trying to quench her embarassment internally. The woman's grip was surprisingly firm, rather unlike the other noble ladies that wandered the grounds. The woman beamed at her.

"My husband was probably_ your father's best friend," she grinned proudly, displaying almost perfect teeth. "They fought alongside each other through thick and thin, back to back, brothers in arms. Inseperable, they said. They even passed away together. Both cut down in Aurora in their prime..." Anya trailed off sadly._

_"They were both incredible men, Anya." After remembering them for a few moments, Sparrow turned slightly, her hands on the princess' shoulders causing her to turn too._

"And this, is Elliot," Sparrow gestured to the boy. "Anya's son." The boy looked at her strangely. He had stopped fiddling with the loose thread on his shirt when she had entered the room, out of which emotion she did not know. Probably horrified at the state I'm in_, the princess thought. _Well done, idiot_._

After a slight hesitation, the princess extended her hand to him, not quite sure if she should smile.

"I think you might need someone to have a look at that." Elliot joked nervously, gesturing to her bloody nose. Dabbing at it with her free hand, the girl's eyes widened when she saw the blood. Another deep pang of embarassment struck her.

Although his grip was not that firm, it was kind. His palms were sweaty despite his calm demeanour as he tried his best to fix a professional smile to his face. The princess smiled at that. It was strangely endearing, not to mention he was rather adorable, she admitted begrudgingly.

Sparrow cleared her throat when they had done no more than grasp hands for longer than needed. She steered her daughter away once more to the chair reserved next to her, not allowing her to get changed. The princess found herself directly opposite the boy of her age.

_Their gazes lingered on each other with some not yet experienced emotion for just about the rest of the evening._

**That next year...  
**The princess stared at the statue in disbelief. It was a mockery to everything here. A mockery to her, a mockery to their family, the beautiful garden and, most of all, their mother. The pointing statue of Logan he had so lovingly ordered to be crafted, that blocked the sun from almost every direction.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" She spat. "My mother not gone for more than three weeks, and Logan has the sheer audacity to build a friggin' statue of himself for all to see!"

Elliot stared up at the statue, not entirely sure why Logan would comission a statue of himself pointing, of all things. He could feel his palms sweating again.

"I mean, there isn't even a statue of my mother here. No one even_ knew _her real name, just the ones that she picked-"

Elliot didn't reply, still staring up at the statue and trying to subtely wipe his palms on his sides.

"-and it's not like she had the most reliable friends to ask about these things. A large woman with a hammer, a blue man and a foppish shadow worshipper!"

Elliot had heard the stories many times in the short time that he had been here. She would always say the same things when she had heard the stories.

Of course, they had always been around each other during childhood, but had never met face to face until that night with their mothers.

"Elliot, say something, won't you?" The princess turned to him. "You're starting to worry me. You're not "thinking" again, are you? Because that _really_ worries me."

Elliot stopped wiping his palms. He turned to her fully and instead took her hand in his sweaty one. She looked a little surprised and he panicked further. It must have shown on his face for she giggled slightly at it.  
_  
Hmm, out of character_, Elliot thought. Squeezing his hand, the princess proceeded to lean in and kiss him quite passionately. Her eyelashes tickled. He broke away and tried to act calm for once. She gave him a playful shove.  
"Oh no, it's the dreaded Princess of Albion! Don't push me into the pond!" He bleated in a silly manner. She threw him a fake, dry scowl and charged after the young man, chasing him in around the lush gardens.

__**A few years later...  
**She had broken away from the rest of the group for now. Oh, she couldn't possibly help it at all, but it would drive her insane. The smoking ruins of Bowerstone Market blurred past her as her boot-clad feet struck the hard, stone ground in the direction of her home. She prayed that it was not too late.

The sounds of the mortar from far away was almost defeaning. Heavy gunfire could be heard very clearly, richocheting off every material imaginable and striking innocent hearts. _Please don't let it be too late_, she chanted in her mind.

Skidding around a corner, she picked up her pace and tore down the street on which her family home was placed.  
"Elliot!" She screamed. This was no yell of someone's name for mere attention. It was a screech, a plea for them to simply be alive. "Elliot!"  
She screamed louder, fearing the gunfire for once.

Rather annoyingly, tears misted her vision and made the path she ran on almost impossible to recognise through them. Her voice was hoarse and her throat was quickly closing up. Her feet guided her to the familiar steps of her family home.  
She yelled his name, coming out strangled and desperate.

The young man appeared quite a bit down the street and far away from her, a wild look in his eye and their daughter in his arms. He must have shouted her name back equally as desperate, but she saw him merely mouth it.

When they met, they embrace for a long time, fearing what may happen if they stood still. The woman checked their daughter. She had been crying, but she would be OK. She planted a kiss on the girl's forehead, hoping that she would see her again.

"I have to go to the castle!" She yelled. Their surroundings shook with the impact of the weapons being fired. "I promise I will find you both, stay here, take care of Alice and I promise I will come back!"

She couldn't hear what he said. Maybe being in the heat of the battle had damaged her hearing. Her hand on his cheek and her lips crushing his, she said goodbye, yelling "I love you" as if the words were shrill and hollow before. Losing either of them would kill her.

It pained her to tear her hand from his face, but she had to. Boot-clad feet once again slammed against the paved streets as she ran to the castle, looking back as the saddest sight she had ever seen: her husband and their new child in the rubble of their old town.


End file.
